


A Married Man

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Weddings, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: The same wedding as in "Unjust Impediments", but this time told from the point of view of the bridegroom.





	A Married Man

“Darling,” I said, “I miss Master Gil.”

Trelawney walked across from the window, where she had been watching the passing fish. “And he misses you too, my dear; but that, of course, is strictly unofficial knowledge. I pass it on because you need it right now.” She smiled.

“Really?” I said.

“Most definitely. I have that from Colette herself. You came up in conversation while they were reminiscing about the old days as students. But I know you’d love to ask him to be your best man, and for strictly political reasons you can’t do that. If you did ask him, he’d have to pretend to be furious. In fact, he wouldn’t be pretending, because he’d be furious that he would have to refuse.”

I sighed. “Politics is stupid.”

“I know, darling. Try not to worry about it for now; I have something in hand that, if it works, may mean you can be officially reconciled. But for now, I’m afraid, you’ll need to choose another best man.”

“Then I’ll ask Dimo,” I said.

Trelawney twinkled. “Ooh! A best Jäger? What fun!”

I nodded. “And that will also mean that Maxim and Oggie can be ushers. Those three boys have been very good friends ever since I was stuck in those caves for all that time. When you’re a spy, you really appreciate people with… uncomplicated loyalties. As far as they were concerned, I was helping their Mistress, so I was very much _persona grata_. Did I ever tell you the story of how I taught them to play cricket?”

She laughed. “My goodness! You must have been _really_ bored, dear.”

“Oh, I was, I assure you. Dimo wouldn’t let me go out in case anything happened to me. Initially that was because I was the only person he knew who could get Lady Heterodyne to England; but very soon it was also because I was his friend and he didn’t want me hurt. Von Blitzengaard’s constructs were roaming the area at the time, and, no matter how good my training was, I couldn’t have held my own against a pack of those.”

“I can imagine. Tell me the cricket story some other time, darling; I’d love to hear it, but it sounds like the kind of thing for a long evening sitting in front of the fire once we’re happily married. For now, we’re doing wedding planning. Very well, so Dimo and Maxim and Oggie are going to be your attendants. What are we going to give them as a thank you? What do they like? Alcohol?”

“They do like alcohol,” I replied, “but they have such a high capacity for it that a bottle each would be nothing to them, and they don’t have very sophisticated tastes in that direction. What I’m saying is that it’s no good buying them fine brandy or anything of that sort. What they like most of all is actually hats.”

Trelawney’s violet-tinged eyes widened. “Hats?”

“Hats, indeed, darling. A hat to a Jäger is a very important thing. A Jäger who defeats an enemy will always take their hat, if there is one to be taken, and wear it with pride. And it doesn’t have to be by force; next time you see Maxim, ask him to tell you the story of his big purple hat. He will, and at some length.” I smiled.

Trelawney rubbed her hands. “So many delicious stories! And you didn’t put any of them in your reports… but then, I suppose, you did have to be fairly concise.”

“I’m afraid so,” I admitted. “There were so many things I should have loved to tell you at the time they happened; but I had to be very disciplined.”

“Then we shall have plenty to talk about in front of that fireplace,” she said happily. “Hats, then. That’s good. I like designing hats. I shall make them a very special hat each, and I’ll ensure that these hats are loyal to their owners. It would never do if another Jäger knocked out one of our friends and stole his hat.”

The door opened at this moment, and Violetta walked in. “Oh, there you two are!” she exclaimed. “There’s a messenger looking for you, Trelawney.”

That reminded me that I needed to talk to Trelawney about Violetta. Trelawney hurried down to see the messenger, and Violetta sat down on the arm of the sofa and looked at me.

“Preparations going all right?” she enquired.

“Very much so, thank you,” I replied. “I am going to ask Dimo to be my best man.”

She grinned broadly. “Good choice! But try and make sure he gets a shave first. Stubble is not a good look with a fancy waistcoat.”

“How are you liking England?” I asked.

“A lot more than I expected,” she replied. “I thought it would be rather boring with everything being under water, but actually it’s like being in a huge aquarium. Of course, that does mean I keep tripping over fish-watchers; but I can’t really blame them. There are so many species, and several of them, if I’m not mistaken, are constructs.”

I nodded. “Indeed. A couple of them are Trelawney’s. She mainly goes in for clanks rather than constructs, but the royal guard fish are hers.”

“Impressive,” said Violetta, with professional admiration. “You’ve picked a good one, Wooster.”

“I know,” I replied. “What continually amazes me is the fact that _she_ has picked _me_.”

“You’re too modest. You’re a good man, and a very intelligent one.” She grinned wickedly. “And you’re brilliant at curbing the worst excesses of sparks. You two were made for each other.”

“I just tell them to focus,” I protested.

“No, Wooster. You don’t just _tell_ them. You _shout_. And everyone is so used to you being quiet, discreet, and diplomatic that it shocks them into listening. I mean, heck, normally you stand out so little that you can wear red without drawing attention to yourself. I’ve always wondered how you do that. You’re not even a Smoke Knight.”

“Ummm,” I said. “I’m British.”

"So’s Trelawney, and she’s no shrinking violet… ah, here she is. Anything important?”

Trelawney shook her head. “No, dear, just Celia. She wants to postpone the fitting session because she’s put on two pounds. I can’t see that it will make the slightest difference, but Celia has rather a thing about her weight.”

“Celia?” asked Violetta.

“My head bridesmaid. And chronicler.”

“Ohhh… yes. Sorry. For some reason I kept thinking she was called Cynthia. Anyway, I’d better leave you two to your planning. See you later!”

When she was well out of earshot, I said, “Trelawney, darling. About Violetta. She’s been a very good friend to me, and so at our wedding I should like to make one of her greatest wishes come true.”

Trelawney nodded understandingly. “Lady Heterodyne has told me a lot about her. I understand she’s saved your life at least once.”

"She has. Now, she is in love with Moloch von Zinzer, and in an ideal world I would want him to be at our wedding simply for that reason; but he is trapped in Mechanicsburg, so that is unfortunately out of the question. Therefore, I’d like to do the next best thing for her. Violetta has always wanted to have a beautiful ballgown and dance with all the young men. Can we arrange that?”

“Of course we can!” exclaimed Trelawney happily. “Nothing easier. I know a dressmaker who can work miracles. I’ll take Violetta to see her; tomorrow morning, if she likes. I can see she’s not the easiest person to dress; but my dressmaker likes nothing better than a challenge, and I’ve never yet known her to fail.”

“Thank you, darling,” I said. “I really appreciate that. Violetta has… rather had the rough end of things, on the whole.”

“Well, yes. She’s related to Martellus von Blitzengaard. That’s enough to make anyone feel sorry for her to begin with,” Trelawney replied.

“I can only agree,” I said. “I have met the cad personally.”

She beamed. “And if I have anything to do with it, you won’t ever have to meet him again.”

The days and weeks passed swiftly, almost in a blur; and yet, paradoxically, at the same time they also dragged by like a snail. I felt like the Red Queen, running as fast as I could simply to stay in the same place. The wedding still seemed a painfully long way off, and yet the preparations for it grew fuller by the day. Zeetha offered to make our wedding cake, which surprised and very much moved me; I had no idea she could even bake. Violetta insisted on helping her to decorate it, which augured well, since I knew she had quite a strong artistic streak. Lady Heterodyne was remarkably restrained, no doubt because Trelawney is a spark herself, and Lady Heterodyne did not want her inventions to become the talking point at another spark’s wedding; she did, however, build us a rather fine clank as a wedding gift.

And then, on the very eve of the wedding, disaster struck.

We were in the church, ready to start the rehearsal, and waiting only for Trelawney’s friend the Hon Celia, who was by now very late. Trelawney was growing impatient. “She’s normally very reliable,” she said, a little irritably. “What on earth is she about?”

Trelawney’s niece Penhaligon looked at her watch. “Well, Auntie, we can’t keep the vicar hanging around all evening, so if she doesn’t show up within the next five minutes I’ll deputise for her if you like.” Penhaligon is thirteen years old and very serious, with glossy jet-black pigtails and a penetrating intelligence.

"That’s sensible, Penny,” Trelawney replied approvingly. “But what _can_ be keeping her?”

“Mebbe sche vent on vun of dem cresh diets und fainted,” Maxim suggested.

Trelawney gave a little snort of amusement. “You seem to have got quite well acquainted with her, Maxim.”

Maxim grinned from ear to ear. “Vell. Sche iz very pretty.”

That was when the messenger arrived; and the expression on his face at once told us that things were a good deal more serious than Maxim’s flippant suggestion. Trelawney tore open the note and read it rapidly, then looked round at the rest of us.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. Penny, I’m afraid you’re going to have to become head bridesmaid at very short notice. Celia’s had an accident.”

“Vot sort of eksident?” asked Oggie.

“Fell off her penny-farthing,” Trelawney explained. “Well, not just fell; some stray clank hit her front wheel side on, going at quite some speed. She’s in hospital now with multiple fractures and various other injuries. Mercifully her life is not under threat, but there’s no way she’s going to be able to make the wedding.”

I frowned sympathetically. “Oh, dear. Poor Celia. That’s quite a height to be knocked down from.”

“Hy go und see her as soon as der veddink iz over,” said Maxim, earnestly. “Hy brink her a beeg box of chocolates.”

“Eediot,” retorted Dimo. “Hyu know vot sche iz like. Sche vill throw a first-rate vobbly about her vaistline. Get her flowers inschtead.”

“Hy might eat dem by mistake, Dimo,” said Maxim, in an unusually small voice.

“Grapes,” said Trelawney, practically. “She likes them, they’re reasonably safe for her figure, and they’re traditional for hospitals. And if you eat those by mistake, there is a greengrocer just across the road.”

That matter duly settled, we went through the rehearsal at a rather faster pace than originally intended, since the vicar had a pastoral visit to make a little later. Fortunately it all went quite smoothly, and Penhaligon picked up her new responsibilities very fast.

And so, at last, the great day came. Dimo arrived early; he was a conscientious best man, and he had read somewhere that one of his duties was to ensure that I was properly dressed.

“Vhich iz a bit veird, Mister Vooster,” he observed with a grin, “becawse hyu iz de best dressed man hy know. But ve gots to go by der book, hey?” Then his expression changed, and with a hint of anxiety he asked, “Vot about me? Do hy look hokay?”

“You look more than okay, Dimo,” I assured him. “You look very smart. Where are the other two?”

“Ho, dey iz at der church. Dey looks after de guests, and _hy_ looks after _hyu_.” He held up a small bag. “In here dere iz de rings, und dot fancy leetle cushion vot Miz T’orpe vos specially keen to haff. Iz also a hip flask full of verra goot port. Vell, Miz Zeetha says it iz verra goot port, und sche knows about dot sort of ting.”

“Ah,” I said. “Just in case you need refreshments?”

“No. Yust in case hyu schtart vorryink hyu socks off. Hy gots to make sure hyu looks der part, vhich means hy gots to keep hyu hair lookink tidy, vhich means hy gots to schtop hyu vorryink und runnink hyu hands through it like hyu do.” He paused. “Hy likes a challenge.”

“Good thinking, Dimo,” I said, “but this is the happiest day of my life. I shall probably not be worrying too much.”

“Heh. Hyu iz marryink a schpark, remember?”

"As long as she doesn’t actually go into fugue in the middle of the wedding service, everything should be fine,” I replied. “Come on, old friend. Let’s go and get me hitched.”

We arrived; and we waited, but thankfully not for too long. It is fashionable for the bride to be slightly late, but Dimo had had a little word in Trelawney’s ear about the likely state of my hair if she was, and therefore she sailed into the church in a billow of white satin at precisely the appointed hour. I could not help giving a little gasp; she looked like an angel descended from the heavens. And then…

...I have been a spy too long. A normal bridegroom would have been so bowled over by the loveliness of his bride that he would never have noticed anything odd about the way her train moved across the floor. She had clanks under that gown, probably a number of them.

My hand rose towards my head automatically. Dimo eyeballed me meaningfully. I lowered it again.

“She’s got clanks,” I hissed out of the side of my mouth.

“Vell? So vot if sche got clenks? Hyu ken bet sche vill heff told dem all to behave. Sche von’t vant dem ruinink her veddink."

“Yes, Dimo, but… _why_ has she got clanks?”

“Hyu go und marry a schpark, hyu ought to know vot to expect. Dun vorry. Hy dun vant to heff to knock hyu out.”

There are times when there is nothing quite so comforting as the sheer down-to-earth lack of subtlety of a Jäger. This was one of them.

“Hyu vant der port?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Dimo. I don’t want to go to the altar smelling of alcohol. But it was a kind thought, nonetheless.”

Still, clanks or no clanks, the service went without the slightest hint of a hitch; and very soon we were all standing outside the church while the official iconographer fussed about with her equipment. She straightened up and looked round at us all.

“Could I please have the bride and groom over here?” she called. 

I duly took Trelawney’s arm. “Darling,” she whispered, “you look amazing.”

“As do you, but… why have you got clanks under your gown?”

She laughed. “Ha! Nothing gets past you, does it? Just testing a few of them. I thought that since I was going to be wearing an enormous gown, it would provide good cover, so I might as well take the better-behaved among the small clanks for a little outing.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Only you, darling.”

She twinkled. “Not only me. I will bet you a very large chocolate biscuit that Lady Heterodyne does it when she finally decides which one of those two battling beaux she wants to settle down with. Personally I’m for Gil.”

“Oh, so am I; but that’s partly because I’d be terrified not to be. What brings you to that conclusion?”

“Just talking to her. She may be attracted to Tarvek like a magnet, but I’m pretty sure Gil’s the one she really loves.” Trelawney narrowed her eyes slightly. “What is that iconographer playing at?”

“I think she’s having a problem,” I replied.

“I’ll fix… no, actually, I think Lady Heterodyne would like to do it, given the way she’s looking at the situation,” said Trelawney. She waved to attract Lady Heterodyne’s attention, and there followed a lengthy conversation conducted entirely in smiles and gestures, in which each spark was politely attempting to give ground to the other.

And, while this was happening, young Penhaligon sailed forward with an even more than usually determined expression on her face, shooed the stunned iconographer out of the way, and proceeded to take the entire set of camera equipment to pieces on the grass.

“Wow!” breathed Trelawney, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Penny’s sparking!”

She certainly was. I have seen quite enough spark fugues in my time to know what one looks like. “Has she just broken out, then?” I asked.

“Yes! It must be the excitement. Oh, wait till I tell Celia!”

I called Dimo over. “Dimo,” I said, “that port. Would you mind very much giving it to the iconographer? I have a feeling she needs it.”

Dimo grinned. “Hokay, Mister Vooster. Hyu iz a married man now, zo if hyu hair gets in a mess, hyu gots a vife to schtraighten it up.” He ambled over to the iconographer. “Hey. Haff zum of dis. It vill probably help.”

“Well,” I said, “while we’re waiting for the pictures, why don’t you come and meet my Aunt Emmeline? She’s just there on her own, and she’d love to meet you. Just so you know, she is a little hard of hearing.”

“Aunt or great-aunt?” asked Trelawney.

“Oh, aunt. She’s a lot older than my father, because really she’s his half-sister. My grandfather lost his wife quite young, and married again in later life.”

Aunt Emmeline was leaning on her stick. “Congratulations, Ardsley dear,” she said. “And it’s lovely to meet you, Trelawney. I’ve been telling Ardsley for years he ought to get married and settle down.”

“She has,” I confirmed, a little ruefully. She has also been telling me for years that I ought to wear my thermal combinations, and I very much hoped that she was not going to mention those in front of Trelawney. Fortunately, she did not; either they simply escaped her mind or she was too busy being dazzled by Trelawney, as indeed was I, until something crossed the corner of my field of vision and the pit of my stomach sank. I turned my head for a proper look.

My stomach had got there before I had. It was Aunt Emmeline’s disreputable ex-husband, Septimus.

Trelawney noticed me running my hand through my hair, and looked to see what had worried me. So did Aunt Emmeline, who turned quite white, looked round, and spotted Oggie, who was still wearing his usher’s name badge.

“Ognian!” she said. “Remove this man!”

Oggie, who had been lost in minute examination of a beetle, turned slowly. “Vot?”

“Gird up your loins, Ognian!” Aunt Emmeline was now in a real panic; Septimus, who had very clearly had far too much to drink, was staggering towards us at a surprising speed.

Oggie blinked. “How do hy do dot?”

“Oh, shut up, Emmie,” Septimus slurred. “Ardsley! You getting married, and you didn’t invite your old uncle? Shame on you, boy!”

“You are no longer my uncle, Septimus,” I informed him stiffly. “Please go away. Oggie, Aunt Emmeline is asking you to remove Septimus here, and if he doesn’t go by himself, then I am asking you the same thing.”

“Hokay… but… how do hy gird up my loins?”

“Aunt Emmeline just wants you to hurry up, that’s all,” I replied hastily. “And I, for one, don’t blame her. Now, Septimus. Are you going to leave quietly, or does Oggie have to throw you out?”

This was when Septimus said something truly incredible, even for a very drunk person. “Think you can throw me out, do you, son?” he demanded of Oggie.

Now, I will grant you that Septimus is heavy. He is not above average height, but he is very overweight. I will also concede the possibility that he might not have heard of Jägers, although that is most unlikely. Surely, though, one look at Oggie and his triple halberd would convince anyone with at least one undrowned brain cell that he could, and would, throw out anyone who caused any trouble. Septimus, clearly, was without such a cell. 

“ _Vot?!_ ” said Oggie.

“He’s been drinking, Oggie,” I explained heavily. “As usual. Come on, Aunt Emmeline; let’s leave Oggie to do what he does best. I think you need to sit down. That must have been a nasty shock.”

“It was, dear,” she said, shakily. “Very.”

I shepherded my stricken aunt well out of the way, followed shortly by Trelawney. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “When you said throw him out… well, Oggie’s got quite a literal mind, hasn’t he?”

We turned and watched. Sure enough, my ex-uncle Septimus went sailing straight across the road and into a clump of rhododendrons, propelled by Oggie’s powerful arm. “Serve him right,” said Aunt Emmeline.

The next difficulty was going to be getting to the reception. We had hired a private bathycoach, and this had now been standing outside the church for some ten or fifteen minutes. We could hardly leave the head bridesmaid behind, but how we were going to get her into the coach was quite another matter. By this time she had the clear makings of a self-propelled iconographic clank in front of her, and I strongly suspected that if anyone tried to part her from her work, even temporarily, there would be injuries.

I noticed Dimo and Maxim glancing at her while they conferred over by the wall, and relaxed. My practical Jäger friends either already had the matter in hand, or very soon would have. “Darling,” said Trelawney, “about Penny. I’m thinking I might have to let out some of my clanks to carry her.”

“I think you might not,” I assured her. “I think Dimo and Maxim have an idea.”

They did. They disappeared for a little while round the back of the church, and returned each pushing a large wheelbarrow.

“Where on earth did you get those?” asked Trelawney.

“Ve borrowed dem off der verger,” Maxim explained. “Zumvun gots to get hyu schparky niece to der reception, und Dimo iz der vun vot iz meant to be escortink her. Zo, ve iz goink to do it.” And, with that, Dimo scooped up Penhaligon with one brawny hand and deposited her in one of the barrows, while Maxim collected all the pieces she was working with and put them in the other. Side by side, they pushed the two wheelbarrows to the bathycoach, with Penhaligon continuing to spark away as if nothing had happened. Trelawney grinned at me.

“I like those boys,” she said, simply.

I smiled back. “You have taste. Come, my love. Our carriage awaits!”

Our reception was being held at the Panorama Hotel, which was famous for its unparalleled oceanic wildlife viewing and therefore expensive. Both of us, however, had always had a hankering to stay there, so we had also booked the bridal suite for the night before setting off on our honeymoon the following morning. The Panorama is a perfect sphere made of specially toughened glass, and all those areas of it with a bedroom behind them have a little switch which enables the occupant to make the glass opaque for privacy in case of voyeuristic divers. It stands atop a narrow tower with a docking station at the bottom; you dock your submarine vehicle, wait for the chamber to fill with air, and then leave the vehicle and take the lift up to the hotel. There are lights on the outside of the hotel which both attract and illuminate a huge variety of fish and other marine creatures; and the bridal suite is right at the top of the hotel, so that, until you throw the opacity switch, it is like lying in bed in a bubble on the ocean floor. It really is quite a remarkable experience.

Our reception room took up a quarter of one of the floors, giving it some very impressive views in its own right. Oggie, who has been fascinated by the marine life since he arrived in England, made a bee-line for the window, exclaiming “Fishies!”.

“Hyu ken look at de fishies all hyu vant later,” said Maxim. “Ve iz goink to eat first.”

“Ho! Dot iz goot,” said Oggie. “Hy iz hungry.”

So were we all; and there was plenty for everyone, even a hungry Jäger or three. The cake was a triumph. Zeetha and Violetta, between them, had excelled themselves. The decoration was such a riot of cogs, gears, delicately inscribed coded messages (which I had tremendous fun decoding over the meal), British sigils, and fish, that it was almost a pity to cut into it; and when we did – both of us with a hand on the knife, in the time-honoured fashion – a delicious but quite strongly alcoholic scent arose from the dark fruity interior.

“Um,” I said. “If there are any teetotallers here, I’m afraid you might want to avoid the cake.”

“Yeah,” said Violetta. “Zeetha tipped a whole bottle of sherry into it. Said you can’t have too much of a good thing.”

“You can’t,” Zeetha affirmed, unrepentantly.

She did have a point. Though I felt it wise to limit myself to a small portion – after all, I did want to be able to dance later – it really was a good cake.

Trelawney had, as promised, arranged for somewhere for Violetta to go and change into her sparkling new ballgown, which she had not wanted to wear to the wedding itself for fear of distracting attention from Trelawney. When she emerged, beaming, surrounded by swathes of silk and tulle with amethysts glittering on her sleeves, I could see why.

“Vow,” breathed Maxim reverently. “Hy alvays tink sche looks goot, but right now… sche looks _really_ goot.”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Lady Heterodyne. “Violetta, you look amazing.” She turned to us and added in an undertone, “What a pity von Zinzer isn’t here!”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. Von Zinzer and I have never got on, but had he not been trapped in Mechanicsburg I should have invited him like a shot just to look at Violetta in all her splendour.

Maxim was already asking her for the honour of the first dance; but, alas, that was where disaster struck. I was looking the other way when it happened, still talking to Lady Heterodyne, but Trelawney’s expressive eyes alerted me to the fact that something was very wrong before she got as far as opening her mouth. I swung round.

“Oh,” said Trelawney. “Yikes.”

With Trelawney, the word “yikes” is rather like swearing is to me. It comes out only on occasions of extreme stress. I am not quite sure why, since it is a perfectly inoffensive word; perhaps she thinks it sounds too American. Still, it was obvious why she had used it on this occasion.

Maxim’s hat was attacking Violetta’s dress.

“Aaargh,” moaned Trelawney. “I know it’s almost impossible to build a decent sense of ethics into a hat, but I never expected this. Poor Lady Violetta!”

“It’s going for the amethysts,” I said. “You built it to be loyal; well, it knows Maxim loves purple, so it wants them for him.”

“Can we stop it?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Not without getting hurt. Violetta is dealing with it herself, and she takes no prisoners.”

All three of the Jägers were helping her by now, while most of the other guests stood around looking shocked; all except Penhaligon, of course, who was still sparking away as if there were no tomorrow. Having finished the iconographic clank to her complete satisfaction, she was now dismantling a grandfather clock. I made a mental note to enquire about the cost of replacing it.

Violetta, in fact, did take a prisoner on this occasion. Even when the hat in question has no manners at all, it is never a good idea to destroy a Jäger’s hat. She ended up with it in one hand, glaring at it, while Maxim stood uncomfortably with both hands on his head and the other two exchanged glances. Penhaligon’s clank chose this moment to scuttle up to the scene and take a picture. Needless to say, I had a quiet word with the iconographer later, a banknote was exchanged, and the picture was duly destroyed. It might well have been a superb testament to the clank’s ability, but I was not going to run the risk that Violetta might see it. Her lovely dress was in tatters.

Maxim was profusely apologetic, and so was Trelawney, of course; she offered at once to buy Violetta a new dress. Violetta was grateful, but, as she pointed out, she couldn’t wear it now. It was only when Maxim offered her the loan of his cloak for the rest of the evening that she brightened a little. It would cover the worst of the damage, and it would go very well with what was left of the dress. As for the hat, it managed to behave itself for the rest of the evening; but I do believe Dimo threatened it.

But at last the dancing was over; the hands of the remaining clock that had escaped being transmuted into a clank by Penhaligon were pointing almost to midnight; the guests had either retired to their rooms or departed in the hotel’s own subshuttle; and Trelawney and I took the lift up to the magnificent bridal suite, taking the wedding gifts with us. For the moment, we simply piled them up on the table to open the following morning; all but one, which had caught Trelawney’s eye. She picked it up and examined it with interest.

“What an odd shape!” she said. “I really can’t guess what this is, can you?”

I shook my head. As a spy, one sees most things, but this one eluded me. “Who is it from?” I asked.

Trelawney examined the tag. “Zeetha and Mr Higgs. You know, darling, I think we should open it now, otherwise we’re both going to be puzzling over it."

“You have a point,” I replied. “Very well, then, darling. You open it.”

She did; and once she had removed all the wrapping paper, I was even more puzzled than before. Trelawney, however, beamed.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed happily. “A genuine Skifandrian _ognak-ki_! She must have had to make it herself. That’s quite some gift.”

“Ah. That, actually, doesn’t tell me anything,” I admitted. “What exactly is it, and what does it do?”

“You don’t know, darling? Well...”

She proceeded to explain, in some detail. This was followed by a highly uncomfortable pause, at least on my side.

Trelawney finally broke the silence. “You look quite adorable when you blush like that,” she said.

“Thank you. But… ah...”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” she said, with a radiant smile. “I don’t think we’re going to need it.”


End file.
